


No Backward Glances

by Kim Gasper (mickeym)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, First Time, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-02
Updated: 1999-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/Kim%20Gasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man learns that sometimes moving forward means not looking back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Backward Glances

The whistle blew, never anything less than startling in its volume and intensity, no matter how often he heard it. It was like a piercing blast that he could feel all the way down to his core, shaking and rocking him.

Like clockwork, the cheer went up around him. "It's Friday!" rang out, nearly as overwhelming in its intensity as the whistle had been just moments before. Sometimes he joined in, sometimes not. This time he didn't. He was glad it was Friday; gladder still it was payday, but he was tired. Bone-deep weary, and staying upright on his feet took all his concentration, all his energies. He had none left over for excitement. With nothing more than a feeling of gratitude that the day--the week--was over, Brian made his way silently with the crowd to the locker room and showers.

* * *

The face that looked back at him from the mirror was the same one he'd stared at every day for nearly twenty-two years. Same eyes that turned from green to green-brown in accordance with his mood; same high cheekbones, even now brushed with a thick five-o'clock shadow; same wide mouth; same thick, almost-black hair. He lathered shaving cream over the dense whiskers, and sighed. He wasn't bad looking, he wasn't great-looking. Pretty average, on the whole. Another flicker at the man in the mirror. He was tall; he could still hear his mother's exclamation when he hit six feet at fifteen, and then kept going. He'd topped out at six feet, four inches, his senior year in high school. He was in good shape, thanks to the mines, and a lot of physical labor. 220 pounds of rock solid muscle. He grimaced, and the face grimaced back at him. Fat fucking lotta good it was doing. All he could find around here were clones of his mother--and even if he was inclined toward women, which he wasn't, no way in hell would he hook up with someone from here.

He wanted another man. Someone big enough to pound him hard; big enough to make him *feel*. With something that bordered on shock, Brian realized he hadn't felt truly alive in a long, long time. He wasn't sure he ever had.

Out. He needed out. Before this place--work, home, everything--suffocated him.

Shower, paycheck, home. With luck, he could figure out a way to get out of the Friday night ritual.

Maybe tonight would be the night. He just needed to be in the right place, at the right time.

With an exhale that bordered on a sigh, he climbed into the shower.

* * *

A wave of shouts followed him as he collected his paycheck and headed for the door.

"Yo, Brian! Beer on Johnny tonight!"

"Hey, Bri--wanna play some pool? You owe me a rematch!"

"New band at the Union hall, guys--it's gonna rock!"

"Brian, tell Matt he still owes me a drink!"

He fielded them all, nodding, mumbling when appropriate, and getting the hell out of there as quickly as he could manage. He didn't want the loud, raucous sound of his fellow miners tonight. He didn't want to play pool, he didn't want to drink with them--especially didn't want to get drunk with them. He didn't want to go to the Union hall, and he didn't care that his brother owed Pete Marcus a drink. He wanted peace, quiet, and some companionship. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to find someone and get fucked. Hard and long, and enough to forget about everything around him.

He wanted *out*.

Now.

Preferably for good.

* * *

They were all there when he dragged home; Mama, Pop, Matt and Mark, and Matt's wife. His whole family, ready to devour the dinner Mama had waiting all ready, on the table. He could smell the roast when he opened the door.

"What took you so long, Brian? Lord, child, it's Friday night! Don't you want to get into town?" Mama was cocking her head, looking at him in concern. He shook his, mumbling quietly.

"Don't think I'll go tonight, Mama. It's been a long week, I'm tired."

"Of course you'll go. You need to get out, relax. You could take Janine Simmons to the dance."

Oh, yeah. As if Janine Simmons was going to be the cure for what ailed him. Not in this lifetime. Brian looked around the room at his family. _Wonder what they'd think if they knew that the only person I'd want to take to the dance would be male, just like me?_ He couldn't even consider the reaction--it would make a nuclear blast seem tame.

"Yeah, maybe." It seemed to be enough to satisfy Mama--for now. He'd have to think of something later. Something longer-lasting.

He took his seat at the table, bowing his head so Pop could say grace. He always felt so hypocritical during this part, because it *seemed* hypocritical. His family wasn't religious. They didn't strike him as particularly Christian. They were pious when it suited them--and if it worked to their advantage.

If anyone asked him, Brian would have said 'Christian' was an attitude--how you treated people. Polite, kind, caring. Helping, if it were necessary--and sometimes when it wasn't. His family--hell, most everyone he knew--said it was What You Were. 'Christian' to them meant white, married, heterosexual, preferably with children to follow in your footsteps. With everyone mouthing the platitudes and prayers, and going through the motions that seemed to be a requirement for the façade.

It wasn't his view. It never had been. Hypocritical bigots, just like now, discussing the latest gossip around the dinner table, in between bites of mashed potatoes, and mouthfuls of roast. And he was just as hypocritical, in his own way, as they were. Because he never spoke up, never said what he was. That he was one of *them*. The sinners. The un-Christian.

Which was a crock of shit, because as far as he could tell, he was the most accepting of others of anyone in the family. _God has a fucking *weird* sense of humor._

"just up and disappeared from town, Jimmy said." His father was looking self-righteous, fingers curled around the glass of beer he always drank with dinner.

"Why on earth would he do that?" Mama, all lace and gingham, looking like something out of the '50's, even if it was the '80's now.

"They said he'd gone and gotten her," Pop's glance slid over to Mark, the youngest son, busily shoveling food into his mouth. "Gotten her in the family way."

"Knocked up?" Brian winced when Matt spoke up, his voice echoing loudly. His older brother had all of the tact of bull in a china shop. Beside him, Carol Anne, Matt's wife, sighed and shook her head.

_Let me out of here. Somebody, please, let me out of here._ It was too polite, too 'nice' too nasty. If you looked beneath the surface, there was gangrenous matter festering. Just beneath where 'people' might see.

"Well, that's what Jimmy was a-saying. I don't think so, though. If that were the truth, whyn't her folks out looking for him? Makin' him do his family duty? Naw," Pop helped himself to another bite of dinner, washing it down with a generous swallow of beer before continuing. "I think he was a queer, and that was just the best excuse they could come up with, without anyone havin' to explain anything else."

_Yeah, and you know *so* much about queers, dontcha, Pop._ The anger simmered just below the surface, and Brian was abruptly aware that he wasn't going to be able to push it down much longer. It was too strong, and he was too tired. He pushed his chair back from the table; it made loud, squealing protests as it dragged over the linoleum floor.

"Brian--?" Mama's voice and eyes managed to exude hurt feelings, but he wasn't buying it right now. Couldn't. He had to get out of there before something inside him gave.

"Not hungry, Mama. I'll--get something at the dance tonight." He nearly choked on the words, hating himself, hating them, hating the hypocrisy of all of it. Nineteen-fucking-eighty, and he was caught in a live version of a bad rerun of 'Leave it to Beaver'. Gosh, Wally--.

"You all right, Son?" Pop's voice; a deep baritone that used to soothe him--soothed them all--when he was small. All it did now was irritate him.

"Fine, Pop. Just kinda tired. I got some things to do; errands I need to run, so I'm gonna head into town, I guess. I'll catch up with y'all later."

"You're not riding in with us, Bri?" Mark almost bounced in his seat. "Can I ride with you? Pop, can I go with Brian?"

_Little brother, you're one of the few things I'd take with me when I make my escape--if I could. But I can't._ His father's eyes were on him, dark brown, dulled slightly with fatigue, with small-town ennui--even if it wasn't recognized as such, with apathy.

"If Brian wants you to ride with him, it's all right with me. Brian?"

"Sure, Pop." Brian gave his younger brother a weary smile. "I'm leaving now, kid. If you're gonna go, you gotta go now." He waited for a nod from Mark, watched as his brother pushed back from the table, mumbling an 'excuse me'. "I'll drop him at the Cannels' house--you can get him there."

"Why not the dance-hall, Brian?" Mama's eyes had the same veil that Pop's had--only their light blue made them seem less dulled.

"I'm--gonna go play some pool beforehand. I owe Winston a game. But I'll see you there."

_Let me out...Leave me alone._ Out of the corner of his eye, Brian watched Mark sit down to put his shoes on. _Hurry please, hurry._

"Bringing Janine, Bri-man?"

Brian turned to look at Matt. The last one in the family to speak to him, ever. Even now, his voice held a slight pitch to it; a taunt. He didn't know if Matt struck out instinctively--he couldn't believe his brother could be that perceptive. But he and Matt had been enemies from the time Brian was old enough to be aware of his brother's feelings--and correctly interpret them.

He considered his brother's question for a moment, watching the dark-haired man before him. When pushed, Matt backed down. He was a bully, unless he was bullied first. "I'm sure I'll see her there." _Ten more seconds, then we're in count-down mode to the explosion. I gotta get out of here._

Suddenly, the idea of an explosion didn't seem as bad as it had earlier.

"I'm ready, Bri."

The voice was both a relief, and a disappointment, and his heart fluttered while he tried to figure out which, more. With something that wanted to be a huge expulsion of breath, Brian gave the table at large a curt nod, then backed away. He turned at the door, holding it open for Mark.

No one else said anything, but the silence behind him spoke volumes.

* * *

Miners City was the nearest town of any size, an easy thirty-minute drive from home. Another place full of bigotry and hypocrisy. One more place he didn't want to go, and couldn't seem to get away from. The dance hall was there; the poolhall was there. The high school, the grocery, all things constituting 'civilized', except for caring and understanding. Acceptance. Those were there as a thin veneer over more rot, in place because it was 'the thing to do'.

He followed the dirt road carefully, watching for where the tire tracks had become actual ruts, nearly holding his breath until he turned on to the blacktop. If only he could follow it until he was far, far gone from here.

Mark chattered at him for the first ten miles of the trip; the closer they got to town, the quieter the teenager got, until Brian couldn't stand it any longer.

"What's the problem, kid? You're never quiet for nothing."

That got him a small smile. "You ain't comin' to the dance tonight, are ya."

_You're awfully perceptive, little brother. Moreso than anyone else in the family._ "I don't know, Mark. I don't--much care for 'em."

"Don't much care for Janine, neither, do ya."

Brian was quiet for a minute, then he shook his head slowly. "No, I don't."

"None a' the girls in town, huh."

_Shit!_ Warning sirens screamed in his head. He didn't need anyone to know his secret; he'd been so careful. Courting Janine slowly, very cautiously--acting as if he were just taking his time. He hated the charade; hated the deception that was necessary. One more thing to add to the feeling of suffocation. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and a glance downward showed his knuckles straining white against red. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond. Brian opened his mouth, wondering what would come out. He'd taken a deep breath when Mark blurted, "Do you like girls at all, Bri?"

Where the *fuck* had all this come from? His fingers tightened from stranglehold to death grip, and the only sound in the truck was the raspy noise of both of them breathing. His gut felt tight, his body cold. _I've been careful. No one knows. How does he? He doesn't--he can't. Grasping at straws? Just wondering?_

Mutely, he shook his head, trying to process this. "I -- No. Not much."

"Didn't think so." Mark was quiet again, his attention seemingly fixed on some point outside the truck.

_That's it? All that build-up, for that?_ His emotions bordered on hysteria for a moment, and Brian wasn't sure if he was glad, or not, that town was coming into view.

Mark remained silent until he pulled into the Cannells' driveway, then the boy turned toward Brian, his eyes dark, face inscrutable. "I won't, um, tell Mama and Pop."

Brian nodded. "Thanks, man. I...um, just--thanks."

Mark nodded. "See you at the dance?"

He shrugged, then cuffed the boy gently. "Dunno, Mark. G'wan, so I can get my stuff done."

Mark slid across the seat, then stopped, the door open. "Bri--? Oh, never mind. See ya later."

"Yeah. Later."

There was that pang again, watching his younger brother walk to the front door. The desire to grab the kid and run like hell, before it was too late. He sighed and put the truck back into gear, knowing it wasn't possible.

* * *

Winston, Joe and Johnny weren't in the front drinking, nor in the back playing pool, and Brian concluded he was probably a lot earlier than any of them would be running. Winston never arrived anywhere less than an hour *after* everyone else, and it was just past six o'clock.

He took a seat at bar, on the curve, so he could see the door. Not that a lot of folks would be coming in until later, but the few who did, he could watch from here.

Nancy, the only waitress that Speedball's had until after nine, slid a beer over to him. "Hey, handsome. Goin' to the dance tonight?"

Brian sighed and rolled his eyes. Didn't anyone in this friggin' town think of anything but the damned dance? He decided to answer a question with a question. "Doesn't everyone?"

She giggled, a high-pitched whining sound that grated on his nerves. "Not everyone; you've missed some."

"Are you *counting*?" He couldn't keep the disbelief from edging into his voice. Fuck, not only did people *listen*, they watched. This place was worse than a spy novel could come up with.

This time, Nancy added a shrug with her giggle, walking away from the bar with a rolling gait that Brian supposed most men liked to watch. He snorted as he raised the beer. Make her about a foot taller, and about seventy-five pounds heavier; well muscled, hard and angular--and he'd be staring like there was no tomorrow. He sighed and swallowed, liking the way the beer stung the back of his throat as it went down. Finally, *something* he could feel.

Was he rotting, here in this place? What if he woke up one day, and this was all he'd had, all his life? He shuddered, and tried to drown it with another volley of beer. No way. He'd self-destruct before that could happen. He'd never last his whole life in this place. Never.

* * *

The Eagles were singing in the background, and he was nursing his second beer, trying to ignore Sheriff Walker's attempts to flirt with Nancy, when the door opened again. The cheerful jingle shrieked through his nervous system like the warning siren for a tornado. Why was he so high-strung tonight? This night really wasn't any different--or worse--than the hundreds that had come before it.

The man that walked through the door managed to grab his attention in the split second it took for Brian to turn his head that way.

He was big. Not as big as Brian himself, but honestly, he hadn't found many that were. Big enough, though. Broad chest, with an appealing triangle of chestnut curls showing through the 'V' of the man's button-down shirt. Hair an equally chestnut color sat in thick waves on a very shapely skull. He had a mustache. Blue, blue eyes--almost too brilliantly colored. Maybe from the shirt? It was a blue-and-white plaid, tucked neatly into worn denim Levi's. Brian's eyes danced down the trail of buttons, ending at the sizable bulge resting--and at rest--neatly between the man's thighs.

His eyes met the blue ones, and a flood of heat poured over him when he realized that the stranger was looking him over in much the same manner. Sizing him up wondering. He gave a brief nod, and felt more heat pool in his groin when it was echoed back, and the stranger slid onto the stool next to him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"Nope." Brian raised his bottle and tossed back the little bit of the beer left there, wondering what it would be like to watch this stranger throw his head back and drink. "New in town?"

"Just passing through."

Nancy sashayed over and set another beer in front of Brian. He listened to the soft Midwestern-twang when the other man ordered a draft, trying not to let it coil his insides up too tightly. He had to look away when a large hand raised the glass, and a generous mouth curved open to drink.

His jeans were suddenly too tight, imagining what else that mouth might open for.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this erect, this fast.

The stranger was holding his hand out. "Tom Carpenter."

"Brian Wade." The guy had a grip on him. The hand held his for a second longer than a handshake, then released him, and Brian let his breath out in a gusty exhale, not aware he'd been holding it. "Stayin' long?"

Tom grinned at him, a kind of crooked smile. More heat. "Just the night. I drive a truck--gotta load to haul. But I'm taking a break tonight."

"Well, if you're lookin' for quiet places to sleep--this is it."

"Oh, I dunno if I'm lookin' to sleep, right away. But, I've been on the road for a coupla days now--some time in bed would be good." The words were almost drawled, they were so low and soft. Brian's stomach clenched tighter as the heat inside him coalesced into something molten. There was that long, measuring look again; the one that burned him up, then froze him down, studying him carefully.

He licked his lips once, then nodded, not wanting to be too obvious--or too subtle. "Yeah, it would. 'S'not often you can find good--rest."

His companion shifted on the bar stool, drawing Brian's eye to him, to the bulge that had grown. "Especially hard to find the right--atmosphere. Not too soft, something able to take weight well, give a bit of a bounce." Tom's hand rubbed gently on his thigh, right beside the hard-on that had caught Brian's eye. "I take my…rest…very seriously."

There wasn't enough oxygen in the room anymore.

Fuck that, there wasn't enough on the planet. He wanted to slip off the stool and onto his knees, take this guy's pants down with his teeth, then suck that tool straight down his throat. Cock-sucking was an art, and Brian was proud of his ability to do it well.

He cleared his throat and raised his beer, licking at the droplets gathered on the rim before taking it into his mouth for a long gulp.

"Sonofabitch," Tom said softly, watching him. The restless hand rubbed again, and Brian's mouth watered, envisioning a thick, hard prick filling his mouth, filling his ass. Making him forget.

"Nah," he answered, just as softly. "Just a promise."

"That so." Blue eyes wandered around the barroom, and Brian was suddenly reminded of where he was, of who was around him. His own eyes took a look around the room, but no one was paying them any attention; no one cared. He relaxed back onto his stool and nodded.

"Yeah. It's a good night to get some--rest. Might be good to get some, soon?" He let the end be a question, not sure he should just completely assume.

"It might, at that." Tom gave him another crooked smile, and something tightened in his gut again. There was promise in that smile. The promise of *what*, exactly, he wasn't sure. But he had a feeling it would be worth the time finding out. "I'm stayin' at the Sleepy Nites motel--that a good restin' spot?"

"I've been in worse." Brian gave his own grin, some of his earlier anger and frustration finding release in the subtle flirting. He glanced around; they were still being ignored. "Think you'd be up to some company--to help you rest?"

"Depends on the company." Tom flicked his tongue over the rim of his beer bottle, and Brian had to push down a groan. "You offerin'?"

"Oh, yeah." Brian shifted so that Tom could see the hardness outlined behind his pants. For once, he was glad of the dimness inside the bar, when he would have to stand up. For one reckless moment he wondered if he had it in him to just get up and follow this guy out of here, dick standing proudly inside his pants, proclaiming *why*. With a sigh that bordered on disgust, he figured he didn't. He still had to live here--if you could call it living.

The urge to feel Tom's body on his, tongue down his throat, cock hard up his ass, was almost unbearable. _Make me feel. Make me alive._

"220." It took him a second to realize that Tom was standing beside him now, some bills laying on the bar in front of the now-empty bottle. "Soon."

He nodded, the curls of heat moving swiftly through him. "Very soon."

"I sure as hell hope so." With that soft murmur, Tom winked, then turned to leave. It was all Brian could do to keep from following right then and there, forcing himself instead to stay at the bar, and finish his beer.

* * *

He managed to make the last bit of his beer last fifteen minutes, before he'd had enough. His erection had cooled enough that he could stand without hurting himself, and leave without embarrassment.

He had fire ants inside his brain, inside his gut. His whole body churned with a kind of sick excitement; horniness, hunger, wariness, fear all vying for attention within him. He'd never done this before, so close to home. Usually, when the longing got to be too much, and he needed to work the itch out, he went to Charleston for the night--or weekend, as had been the case a few times.

Brian tossed down a twenty and muttered to Nancy to keep the change. It was a helluva tip, considering she'd spent most of the time irritating him, but what the hell. He was gonna go forget for a while, and that was a Good Thing. He could afford to be generous, with that looming over him.

Johnny and Joe were making their way toward the bar as he exited, and another sigh worked its way to the surface. _Shit. Just--shit._

"Bri-man! Leaving without us? We haven't played yet." Johnny's light eyes were bright with an alcoholic haze, and Brian wondered how many the other man had tossed back at home before coming into town.

"I--got something I gotta do real quick. Shouldn't be long." He almost laughed over that; with luck, he'd be gone all night. Just thinking about what was waiting for him made him twitch with wanting.

"Nope...don't wanna keep ol' Winston waiting." Joe's voice was a little slurry, too, and Brian shook his head in disgust. This was *not* how he was going to live out his life; drunk every weekend, living to play pool at someone's beck and call.

"Oh, no. Don't wanna do that. See y'all in a while." He could feel the excitement--mingled with his renewed anger--tingling through him. _Soon...gonna be real soon...and forever before I see you again_

Again, he left silence behind him as he strode away, not looking back.

* * *

The door opened just as he was starting to lose his nerve; as he was starting to wonder if this was as good an idea as it had seemed twenty minutes ago.

"Thought you might've changed your mind." Tom stepped aside and let Brian in.

"Had to wait a few--there's too many in this place who like to talk, and I'm not gonna give 'em something to talk about."

"I hear that. Want anything to drink?" Tom hadn't left the door; he'd closed it, and was simply standing there, watching Brian. The younger man shook his head. What he wanted was twisted in his gut like a poison eating at him.

"Nothing, just--" He didn't get to finish his sentence; Tom pinned him to the wall, hands tight on Brian's biceps, his mouth tasting the sweat on Brian's neck. "Oh, yeah." Brian finished with a soft moan, then lifted his hands up to stroke the strong back, feeling muscles flexing there. "You kiss, man?"

Tom raised his head; his eyes had darkened from blue to indigo; something deep, dark, almost fathomless. They made Brian shiver, the sensation increasing when the slow, twangy drawl thickened to something like honey mixed with aged whiskey. Sweet and hard, smooth and smoky. "Do you?"

"Yeah. Oh, man--" The words came out as a groan when that mouth fastened on to his, biting, sucking, licking. Not a gentle kiss, but the kiss of a man who was hungry, who wanted something.

It slowed, gentling for a moment, letting Brian catch his breath, then Tom ground his mouth down again. Brian answered with a low growl and opened, shuddering when the other man slid his tongue around all crevices, over slick tongue and gums, across hard enamel. He shifted, swinging them around, holding Tom fast against the wall, his larger body all he needed to pin him there as he deepened the kiss, pressing his erection against Tom's hip.

"You top?" he panted, pulling back from the mouth that was quickly becoming addicting. He could, if Tom absolutely didn't want to but he was praying the other guy wanted to. He wanted to get fucked. Hard. The corded muscles in Tom's neck beckoned, and Brian bit gently, then harder, when his companion groaned.

"Fuck, yes!" Tom's fingers were pulling his shirt out of his pants, rubbing over the hardness in his pants, then sliding around to rub and knead his asscheeks. "You want it, man? Want my cock?"

"Yesss." It came out as a sibilant hiss, all heat and fire. Brian pulled Tom's mouth back to his, then reached down to rub the thick erection poking at him. He shifted when Tom tugged on him, raising his arms and breaking their kiss long enough to let the other man shuck his shirt up over his head. Long, lean fingers plucked at his hard, throbbing nipples, and pulled another low, thick groan from him.

"Damn you're hot, aren't you." The voice was hard in his ear, wrapping around his brain, slithering through his nervous system, sparking nerve endings he hadn't been aware of. More sensations: heat touching him, exploding within him, when teeth gnawed gently where a tongue had just been. Brian shivered violently, tilting his head for more. Tom growled against his ear, a sound that increased and echoed through him, then bit harder, teeth digging into the soft flesh of his neck.

"Yeah...like that" It came out as a soft, muted whimper, then Brian's fingers were scrabbling at Tom's shirt, pulling roughly to get the buttons undone. He was being eaten alive, and he wanted to do some eating himself.

The chest beneath the plaid was a masterpiece; a work of art. Broad, and well defined, crowned with tight, hard nipples and generous whorls of silky chestnut hair. Brian pushed the shirt off Tom's shoulders, then bent his head, nosing and nuzzling at his chest, teasing at one hard little tit. He licked at it once, laughing softly when Tom jerked, then groaned, large hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. He tasted the soft tufts of hair beneath Tom's arms, then made a damp trail back to latch onto the other nipple, tonguing it roughly before sucking it into his mouth. Hard, callused hands held him, stroking his hair.

"You suck it, baby," Tom whispered, hands holding him tightly. One large hand dropped to tug at the waistband of his jeans, and Brian mimicked the action, freeing Tom's cock as his was. He gave another hard suck to the reddened tit, then pulled back, shifting to get a good look at his companion.

Tom's dick wasn't overly long, but it was incredibly thick, the big vein on the underside pulsing rapidly. He was cut, like Brian, the broad crown flaring into a perfect mushroom shape. The tiny slit in the center was dilated, oozing clear fluid in small droplets. Brian stroked his fingers over the damp head, rubbing the moisture into the soft skin. "Beautiful, man. Fuckin' perfect." He stroked harder, fingering the tip, teasing more moisture into pearling up, dampening his fingertips. Tom clutched hard at his shoulder with one hand, and his grip on Brian's tool tightened, drawing a low groan.

"Right here, Brian. Can't wait--right now." Tom's fingers were stroking him faster, and Brian adjusted his grip to slide his hand along the entire shaft, stroking roughly.

Mouths met again, hard and wet, tongues stroking in time with fingers and palms. Brian licked and bit at the thick brush of hair over Tom's upper lip before delving back inside the hot sweetness of his mouth. He was so hot; he could feel sweat dripping down between his shoulder blades, rolling off his forehead. Tom was just as hot, and when their mouths separated for long, panting breaths, Brian snaked his tongue out, and over the curve of neck and throat, following it down to the collarbone that was dotted with moisture. Tom pressed harder against him, their cocks rubbing and bumping against each other as they strained to in each other's hands.

"Now--" Brian strained hard, his dick pulsing in Tom's hand. He rubbed himself almost frantically against the other man's body, moaning into his neck when Tom tightened his grip.

"Do it--do it, Brian--"

"*God*--ohgod--" A last gasp, and Brian could feel something inside him snap; the electricity that poured through him felt like the sizzle and crackle of a lightning storm. He shuddered and groaned, his fingers clenching around Tom, the moans increasing when the other man grunted and shoved forward into his tight grip, thick, viscous liquid slipping between his fingers as the musky smell of semen rose around them.

"Yeah!" "Ah, shit--"

After wasn't much better than before; they sounded like freight trains roaring through the night, their breathing was still so heavy, so labored. Brian shifted, rubbing the jism into Tom's cock, listening to the soft grunts and moans, his body slightly assuaged, but still hungry.

Tom shivered once, then pulled back into his own space for a moment, his eyes holding Brian's. "You wanna suck, or fuck?"

"Both, man." His voice was thick, a little hoarse, and he licked his lips. "I've been imagining this thing in my mouth since you walked through the door. I gotta taste you, Tom." Brian leaned in close and kissed Tom once, hard, then tugged the other man by the waistband toward the bed. Tom grinned as he sank onto bed.

"Hot for it, aren't ya." His cock was plumping up again, swaying heavily.

"You got no idea, man. No idea." Brian pushed his shirt all the way off and shucked out of his pants and briefs. There was something gut-wrenchingly exciting about being naked while Tom was still partially dressed, and his own cock pulsed, beginning to fill again. "This isn't the place to be, if you're a cocksucker--so I'm real quiet about it." He grinned back at the other man, and slid his hands up the warm skin of Tom's thighs, stroking the insides gently. "Never got laid this close to home before."

"Oh, you--ahhh!--you think you're gonna get laid, huh?" Tom yelped quietly when Brian leaned in and bit his thigh, then let out a shuddery breath when the dark-haired man engulfed the tip of his cock. Brian flashed an amused grin up at his bed-partner and nodded decisively before settling into a hard sucking and licking rhythm.

Tom's cock tasted as good as he'd imagined it would, slick with salt-bitter juices dribbling from the small slit at the tip. The man himself smelled earthy, a thick, heady scent that was partly sweat, and partly some sort of pungent soap. Whatever it was, it mixed with softer scent of alcohol, and the musky, almost acrid scent of arousal that was filling the air around them. He could taste the jism he'd rubbed into the swollen flesh earlier, and it filled his mouth with the sharp aftertaste of sex.

His own cock was throbbing in his hand as he stroked it slowly in time to his long, slow glides down Tom's shaft. He increased his suction and speed, then cupped Tom's balls, stroking them with fingertips as he licked and nipped at the spongy head before probing with his tongue, shivering when more pre-come welled up into his mouth.

Tom's breathing was fast and harsh when his hands pushed Brian's head away. "Stop, man--if you want me in your ass, you gotta stop now."

Brian pulled off with a loud, wet noise. "Aw, man--"

"Hey, I don't have the recovery of a kid like yourself--you wanna get fucked, then get off your knees and get on the bed." Tom's fingers rubbed over Brian's mouth, pushing at the swollen lips and groaning softly when Brian nipped at the tips. "You're a helluva cocksucker, Brian. You can have my prick any time you'd want it."

Muzzily he thought that sounded almost like heaven should, but it was hard to do much thinking, since he'd stood up, and Tom was stroking his dick, rubbing his thumb over the head, playing with him. "How d'you want me?" he asked thickly, watching his fingers twine with Tom's, sliding over himself.

Brian could almost see the heat moving over Tom, a slow, thick spread, like maple syrup across a plate. "On your back, with your legs over my shoulders. Gonna fuck you and watch you jerk yourself." One large hand snaked around his hip and landed a quick slap on his ass. "On your back, baby. Lemme see what I'm gonna fuck."

He moved slowly, his cock swaying heavily before him, arcing upward. His whole body ached from his head to his toes, and his stomach churned anxiously with need. Tom darted into the bathroom while he positioned himself, then came back, stroking something slick onto his own swollen length. Brian shivered, his mouth suddenly dry, his body hot with flashes that felt like electrical currents. He opened his legs, raising them up, then reached his hands under himself to open his ass to Tom's view.

"Sexy little hole. Likes to get fucked, huh?" Tom knelt on the bed beside him, and bent down to touch him. His fingers were cool and slick as they stroked over his pulsing hole.

"Loves to get fucked." His throat was too small for words to fit through now; each one felt stuck inside, pushing roughly to get out. "Do it, man. Don't play with me--fuck me."

Tom's answer was to snug up close to his body and lift his legs up high--over his shoulders, as promised. The blunt head nudged him, and Brian groaned when the tight muscle was breached, the thick cock pushing its way slowly, but steadily, inside him.

"Tight," was the hoarse pant above him. "Nice and hot, tight...aw, Brian," Tom held still for a minute, and when Brian opened his eyes, he saw a look of intense pleasure moving over handsome face. He wiggled his ass and flexed, pulling a deep, throttled groan out of Tom. "Fuck, man--"

"*In*." Brian pushed up, his gut twisting, his heart pounding, the word gritted out between his teeth. Not pain, just need that was overwhelming him. "*Hard*, Tom. Do me hard, man--"

The hands that gripped his thighs surprised him with their strength, and he gasped, knowing he'd have finger-shaped bruises there in the morning. Tom's cock was full inside him, stroking him slickly, feeling like a moving furnace, back and forth, filling him. Oh, god, it felt good--to be held tight, pounded into. He arched back a little, then stroked his cock, rubbing himself roughly in time to the rough, fast strokes that were hammering him. Tom shifted forward, leaning over him like he was doing pushups, and the hammering intensified. Each one felt like it was grabbing him and pulling, twisting, opening his nerve-endings up to each sensation that touched him. His knees were pushed up and back, his whole body felt wide-open, exposed. Tom's cock glided in and out of him in hot, hard, punishing strokes, and Brian felt a sob of pleasure work its way up out of him, emerging as a thick, hot groan. *This* was what he'd wanted. This was what he needed. He jerked himself harder, the pleasure sliding over him, hot and thick.

"I'm coming--" he managed, his throat burning, his body tense with the need to release, with the desire to hold it in.

"Yeah--" Tom panted, grunting with his efforts. Both of them were slick with sweat; several beads dripped down Brian's forehead and stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly, then reached a shaking hand up to pull Tom on top of him fully, fusing their mouths together as he grunted long and hard, arching into his hand, spending himself in several powerful bursts.

Tom's body slammed into his several more times, then he was groaning into Brian's mouth, panting and gasping, his cock pulsing hotly inside Brian's slick, hot tunnel. Brian lowered his legs and wrapped them tightly around the other man, holding him there while thick, hot cream filled him.

* * *

They laid together long enough that it actually hurt a little to pull away; their bodies were sticky with sweat and come, and the two had become almost like glue on their bare skins.

At some point the post-sex stupor turned into a doze, their sticky bodies slung over each other; a leg here, an arm there, touching comfortably like old lovers, instead of brand-new.

A truck roaring past woke Brian from his doze, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily, wondering for a minute where he was. Tom was curled onto his side, one arm flung outward, his fingers curled inward. The younger man grinned, remembering those hands gripping his thighs, and wondered if he'd be able to coax a quickie out of his companion in the morning, before Tom had to get on the road.

He staggered out of bed and into the bathroom to piss, then fished around in the small cooler Tom had on the dresser, and popped open a soda. It was still cool, and felt good going down his raw, parched throat. A quick glance at his watch showed it was just past midnight, and he was a little surprised at how quickly he'd fallen asleep--and how rested he felt now, even with just a couple of hours under his belt.

_Enjoy it, kiddo. In the morning you have to go back to reality. Not to mention you have to explain where you were all night long._ He could avoid some of that now; if he left right now, he could slip out of here and back home, with no one the wiser as to where he'd been. He'd come home late a few times--but never stayed away all night, without setting up his cover well in advance.

"You gotta go?" The sleep-rough voice startled him, and Brian swung his gaze from the window where it had drifted, to the big man in the bed in front of him. He imagined he could almost hear disappointment in that rich, twangy voice.

"Nah--just needed a drink. Want something?" Brian padded over to the bed and sat on the edge, bumping his hip against Tom's hand. Warm fingers stroked him, rubbing over his thigh, his cock, carding through his pubes.

"Depends on what you're offerin'." Tom tugged on him again, and Brian gave up with the drink, setting it on the small nightstand. In moments he was straddling Tom's face, his cock pistoning in and out of the other man's mouth, a steady stream of groans and soft whimpers filling the air around them.

His cry of completion surrounded them, holding them both captive for long moments as he creamed, his cock pumping thick, bitter fluid into Tom's waiting mouth. He didn't even ask afterward, just rolled over and raised his ass in the air, opening his legs invitingly. This time, Tom was the one who came, gasping his pleasure out against the back of Brian's neck.

* * *

The sun was just starting to peek out behind early-morning storm clouds when Brian rolled over. The sound of the shower turning off pulled him out of his drifting, and by the time Tom emerged from the bathroom, he was sitting up, scrubbing at his face.

"You outta here, man?" He watched the other man pull briefs, then clean jeans on, scratching idly at his chest.

"In a bit. I need to get goin'--though I sure as hell am glad I stopped here last night. Man." Tom shook his head, his grin warming Brian all the way through.

"Me too. I needed that." Brian looked away for a minute, then down at his still-sticky body. "I'm gonna hit the showers. Be back in a few."

Tom had his clothes laid out on the bed when he returned, still dripping, a few minutes later. He toweled his hair off roughly, then set to pulling his clothes on. Reality was beginning to seep in, and the glow from last night was dimming a little, down to something like a low-wattage light bulb might give off.

"Is it that bad?" Tom's voice cut through his thoughts, and Brian glanced up from tying his shoes.

"Is what that bad?"

The other man shrugged. "Whatever's got you frowning, man. I'm the one with four more lonely days on the road. But I gotta come back through this way--if you want to meet again--?" His voice trailed off into a question and Brian smiled faintly.

"No, it probably isn't as bad as I make it in my mind--and that would be great. Not here, though. Charleston too far off your route?" Already his stomach tightened with the anticipation of spending another night like last night, with Tom.

"Not too bad, no." The other man hesitated, then tilted his head. "I don't--usually do this. Fact, I've never done it. But if you'd--wanna come with me, you're welcome."

Brian blinked, then frowned. "Come with you--on the road? What's the catch, man?"

A quick shake of Tom's head. "No catch. You can stay with me as long as you want, and I'll let you out anywhere along my route, whenever you want. I got a house in Richmond, just me and a coupla cats, and you're welcome there, too."

"Why?" No one offered something for nothing, and as tempting as this offer was--Freedom!--he had to have at least a moment or two of clarity.

"I don't know." Tom rolled his shoulders, then sat on the bed next to Brian. "Look, man. I don't know jack about you--I realize that. But you seem like a good kid, and like you're...stuck here. When I walked into the bar last night, you were the last thing in the world I was expecting to find. A beer, maybe someone to chat with for a while, then I was gonna come back here and get some sleep, and get on the road.

"But you were sittin' there, and Brian, you looked--" Tom paused a minute, then shrugged lightly, "--miserable. You looked just--miserable. Kinda like you're lookin' now. And I hate to see anyone looking that bad off. I'm thirty-four years old, not ever gonna be married, and it gets boring out on the road sometimes. You're great in the sack, and you seem like you have a mind--and know how to use it. We could keep each other company, and you get to get out, in exchange. And you get off wherever you want, whenever you want. No strings, man, and totally up to you."

Brian blew a breath out, and looked down at the floor. Dull brown carpeting to match the light tan spread and curtains. Dull. Everything in this town, in his life, was *dull*. Here was a chance to get out. To make a break, to start over.

Could he do that? Did he dare take the chance?

Did he dare *not* take it?

"How far you goin'?" His voice was quiet; he'd made up his mind, but saying the words would still be difficult.

"This trip, El Paso, Texas. Once in a while I get to California; depends on what I'm haulin', mostly. I'm an independent owner-operator; I contract freight runs."

"Teach me to drive that monster sometime?"

Tom nodded. "You got it, bud. You ready to go?"

Brian swallowed. "I don't know. I am--but it's--"

"A lot. Yeah." Tom was quiet for a minute, then he raised an eyebrow. "I could get you on the way back through--"

"No. If I'm gonna do it, now's the time. You got time for me to run to the bank?"

"You have a bank around here open on Saturday?" The disbelief shone from blue eyes, and Brian grinned, appreciating the break in tension.

"The *only* bank, and yeah--to accommodate all us who get paid on Friday afternoon, and don't always get to the bank before closing. It'll just take a minute."

"No sweat, kid. Let's get going, though--we can stop down the road for breakfast. I get the feeling the sooner we put this place behind us, the better off we'll both be."

Brian nodded. "I think you're right, man. Really right."

He followed Tom down the steps and out to the truck. His own truck was parked there, looking a little lost, a little lonely. He put his keys under the floor mat; he'd send a letter to Mark, telling him where to find them, what to do with them.

Lots of loose ends to tie up here; things he should do, and couldn't, if he left like this. Hanging in the back of his mind was that if he left like this, he could probably never come back. Could he handle that? It was only two more years 'til Mark graduated high school, then his brother could come live with him, wherever he was. He could have his things sent to him--in Virginia, or wherever he was. For now though, he would be free.

Free.

It even tasted good, rolling on his tongue.

Free.

Tom called his name and he gave a grin, then shut the door of his truck. Scary as shit, this decision he'd made by the seat of his pants. Probably irreversible, too. But as necessary as oxygen was to breathing. He couldn't stay here. He'd die inside, one cell at a time. He climbed into the cab of the truck and took a deep breath, nodding at the frown Tom turned his way.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

The truck pulled onto the road, and Brian didn't look back.

~Finis~


End file.
